


Cigarette Burn

by JayEz



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Abuse, Domestic Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 11:30:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayEz/pseuds/JayEz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for this prompt on Sherlock BBC Kink Meme: "Mrs Anderson is an abusive partner. Nobody knows. Sherlock works it out and is absolutely stumped by how concerned he is about the unfortunate situation of a man that he was supposed to loathe."</p>
<p>Warnings: Non-graphic depiction of domestic violence</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cigarette Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Written in the dead of night for [ merlenhiver](http://archiveofourown.org/users/merlenhiver) :) Thank you, too, for your incredible beta-job!

Sherlock turned around frantically, scanning the murder victim – female, average looking, secretary, not so happily married, two or three kids – for clues. 

She was rich. Still wearing her jewelry. The only thing missing was her wallet – and her heartbeat. 

“There’s nothing in the bushes.” Anderson. 

“Anderson, shut up, I’m trying to think.” 

Sherlock didn’t even need to look at John to see the stern look he was aiming at him. 

“Thought that piece of info might interest you.”

The detective whirled around. “Anderson. Go away. Of course there’s nothing in the bushes.”

The man rolled his eyes at Sherlock and, turning, wiped a strand of hair out of his eyes. That’s when Sherlock saw it: a mild discoloration below his right jaw. Anderson had done a fairly convincing job of applying make-up. 

Now what could the forensic have done to contract such a mark? His knuckles showed no sign of irritation. No fight then?

Sherlock filed the puzzle piece away for future reference and returned to the woman. 

*

Another crime scene. Another victim, male this time, young. Sherlock pulled the shirt sleeves back. He had been right. 

“He’s a prostitute.”

“And how would you know that?” Anderson again, not angry. His tone suggested teasing. And John suppressed a grin. 

“Anderson, just this once I will indulge you because Christmas is coming and John told me this morning that this time of the year people have to be nice to each other, so I will impart some of my intelligence on you. Firstly, this man’s clothing is two numbers too tight. Said clothing is also way too cold for the season and thirdly we are in a neighborhood that is a known pick-up spot for male prostitutes, which is common knowledge to anyone in law enforcement.” 

Anderson growled at him and pulled on his gloves. His sleeves rode up for a moment and Sherlock saw a mark that looked distinctively like a cigarette had been put out on the skin. 

Intriguing. 

*

They had retrieved the wallet in a dumpster a few blocks from the crime scene. 

“Sherlock, we already inspected it, nothing is missing, not even the cash.”

Sherlock snatched the wallet from Lestrade’s hands. 

“There is something missing. You simply didn’t find it.”

“Yeah, because it’s missing, genius”, growled Anderson to his right. 

Sherlock shot the forensic a glance that sufficiently told the man to remove himself from his room but Anderson simply ignored Sherlock. 

The cash was there as were credit cards, a gym membership card, her ID, several membership cards for clubs, a photo of her husband and her children-

“I really don’t know why you let him take a look, sir, there’s nothing there, no fingerprint, no-“

“Anderson, I’m trying to think.”

“I know. I don’t care, freak.”

Sherlock looked up and opened his mouth but Anderson cut him off. How rude. 

“And don’t you go telling me that I should remove myself from your vicinity because I lower the IQ of the room, because I’ve just about had it. Sir, why are we tolerating him at all?”

Lestrade let out a heavy sigh. 

“There was a piece of paper in her wallet. It’s missing,” Sherlock said.

“And how can you possibly know that?”

Sherlock felt John tense up beside him. “The same way I know that your wife is abusing you. I observe.”

Anderson’s face wen white. He opened his mouth – obviously to object, so Sherlock continued pre-emptively.

“When we found the woman, there was a bruise under your right jaw which you sufficiently covered in make-up. When we found the boy you had a cigarette burn on your right arm. Today, your lip is cut but you’ve concealed it superficially. Furthermore the cut isn’t deep enough for the culprit to be a man. I’ve seen you buy cigarettes but you don’t smoke. Your wife does, however, as I’ve seen her discolored teeth in the photo on your desk. Your knuckles aren’t bruised so your injuries didn’t come from a fight but from abuse and since I know you and Donovan are no longer sleeping together the only person outside the MET you have contact with is your wife since I overheard Lestrade telling Gregson that you hadn’t been joining the office on Friday nights out and since I know you have no friends outside the MET. Your wife is abusing you. Quot erad demonstrandum.”

Sherlock turned to Lestrade. “Now, about the wallet. The leather is bound in a certain way to suggest that this compartment usually holds more papers yet it doesn’t contain enough to fill the bulge. So a piece of paper is missing.”

Lestrade was still glancing back and forth between Sherlock and Anderson and then at John who was wearing a troubled expression. Worry, empathy or something similar, Sherlock mused. He saw John exchange looks with Lestrade who gave an imperceptible nod and then John tugged at Sherlock’s arm. 

He allowed John to pull him from the room.  
“Is he right?”

“No.”

“Sherlock’s always right.”

“Not this time, sir.”

“Then how do you explain the cigarette burn, Sylvia?” 

Anderson’s head snapped up involuntarily. His DI sighed and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“What about a pint at the pub after work?” He made it sound more like an order just so his colleague knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

Anderson shrugged curtly and fled the room.

*

John was incredibly noisy in the kitchen every morning. Sherlock had pointed it out, twice, but when his reprimands had yielded no result whatsoever he had abandoned the issue. 

Sherlock was trying to think. 

The woman had paid for the prostitute’s services. Often. She was dead, a piece of paper missing from her wallet, and the boy had also been killed. The husband had no idea. 

Sherlock’s thoughts kept returning to her boss who- 

“Sherlock, I just got a text from Greg.”

He didn’t answer. Not that John would take it as the intended sign. 

“He said that he had talked to Anderson and that you were right.”

“Obviously.”

“Great for you. Anyway, Anderson promised to draw the line and leave his wife.”

“He won’t.”

“What makes you say that?” John set a plate of eggs down in front of Sherlock and another one in front of him. 

“Partners in abusive relationships tend to overlook their loved one’s faults. Anderson will tell himself it’s not that bad, that his wife just had a bad day or some other nonsense and stay with her because he thinks getting hit is better than being alone.”

John was shaking his head. “Anderson is smarter than that. You’re insane.”

“Says the man who made himself two plates of eggs.”

“This one is for you, idiot”, John said with an affectionate smile. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“I know. I also know that the last time you ate was lunch yesterday. Now shut up and eat.”

Bugger. He had lost his train of thought anyhow, so Sherlock turned and picked up a fork. He couldn’t help the smile forming around his lips, though, and saw John return it whole-heartedly. 

* 

Another crime scene, another dead prostitute. Male, this time. Anderson was avoiding eye-contact, Sherlock noted.

“Find the boyfriend.”

“Which boyfriend?” Lestrade looked at him questioningly. 

“The boy has a tattoo on his hip, the name Ivan in Cyrillic. It’s perhaps a week old. It’s crudely done, probably black market considering the boy’s age.”

“Great, now could you get out of my crime scene?” 

Anderson was irritated. Interesting. 

Sherlock’s eyes flickered over the forensic until he found what he was looking for. Anderson was favoring his left leg today. 

*

“I was right.” 

John said nothing but continued typing away on his blog. 

“This is usually your turn to ask ‘What about, Sherlock?’”

“I know you’re going to tell me no matter if I say anything, considering you make decisions based on my consent that I allegedly gave while I was out.”

“Are you still mad about the new clock?”

“No. The clock is nice.”

“So your point?”

“That you should have asked first.”

“But I knew you’d like it.”

“Sherlock, forget it. What were you right about?”

“Anderson. He didn’t leave his wife. He was favoring his left leg today. My observations suggest a cut, probably a kitchen knife.”

At that, John looked up. “I’ll tell Greg.”

* 

The prostitute’s boyfriend finally gave them something to go on. The woman’s boss was involved in drug trafficking, the victim was one of his dealers – and a buyer judging from the state of his veins – and had decided to take action against the woman’s boss. With her help because apparently, she had taken a liking to the boy. Good that she hadn’t known about Ivan.

Now all they needed was proof. 

Meanwhile, John had informed Sherlock that Greg had had another talk with Anderson and that everything was resolved. 

So when Sherlock saw the way Anderson carried himself a few days later, Sherlock was surprised. Well. Not really. A little bit disappointed. What did it take for Anderson to leave his wife?

This time, the boss had received a bullet through his chest. Sherlock already had a theory, had had that theory for a few days now, in fact, and a closer look at the corpse proved him right. 

He was waiting outside the office building for John to return from the men’s room when Anderson passed him. 

“So you got this all figured out, well done. You’ll get a biscuit, freak.”

“Save your sarcasm, Anderson. I know you still haven’t left your wife.”

Anderson froze. Then, his face contorted in anger. “And why the hell do you care? You don’t even like me!”

“You’re more entertaining when you’re not suffering from domestic abuse.” 

“Glad you appreciate me. You can stop now.”

Anderson turned and left Sherlock to his thoughts. 

*

Later that night, when Sherlock was playing his violin and John was answering his mail, he voiced his observation. 

“Damn.” John looked pained. “That poor guy.”

“I just wonder what would make him see reason.”

“Probably-“ John stopped abruptly. Sherlock turned and found the man gazing at him in wonder. “Hang on. Why are you interested at all? It almost sounds like you care for Anderson?”

“Please.” Sherlock returned to his music. 

“But you do. In some way, Anderson has grown on you. That’s why you deign him with your attention.”

“You’re imagining things, John. Anderson is as important to me as your obsession with double-penetration porn.”

“Wh-what?”

“Browser history. I thought you’d learned by now to delete it.”

An exasperated sigh told Sherlock that John had returned to his mail.

*

Still, what John had said kept bugging him. Why was he paying attention?

He always paid attention, his brain was operation at highest capacity, there was no information that went past it.

Still. Information he deemed unnecessary remained unconscious until he accessed it. Why didn’t the signs of Anderson’s abuse also blend in with the background?

*

A week later, John and Sherlock had tracked down the supplier and proved his role in the murders and were just finishing giving their statements when Anderson returned a file to Lestrade’s desk. 

The way the forensic moved suggested trauma to the chest, probably a heavy object like a vase. He was favoring his left arm instead of his right and make-up was covering another bruise at his jaw line. 

“Excuse me for a moment”, Sherlock said and followed Anderson out of the room. The fact that both John and Lestrade were bound to suspect something was up didn’t bother him at all.

His previous statements had gone unheard. A new approach was required to yield different results. 

“Anderson.”

“Go away.” 

“It’s getting worse. You need to leave her. Everything else is stupid.”

The man stopped and Sherlock was glad no one was around. 

“Compared to you, everyone is stupid, so what gives you the right to judge.”

Sherlock didn’t answer but instead looked straight into Anderson’s eyes. The defiance slowly melted away. 

“Then please tell me, genius, what should I do?”

“Wait until she’s out. Pack your bags and move out. Never see her again. She will always find an argument that will lure you back but people don’t change and she will hit you again and you will continue making excuses until she puts you in the hospital or worse.”

For a second, Anderson looked as he might object but the man deflated within a heartbeat. 

“And where would you suggest I go?”

“A friend’s place.”

“You said it yourself. I don’t have friends.”

“Outside the MET.”

“Donovan is angry with me for breaking it off, Lestrade has his cousin squatting on his couch for the next few weeks and no one else is close enough to take me in.”

Anderson was aiming for nonchalance yet Sherlock could hear his desperation. 

Sherlock sighed. 

“My brother owns an apartment in the city but he’s abroad for the remainder of the month. You’re welcome to use it. I’ll inform them you’ll be coming by and to hand you a set of keys.” No reaction from Anderson. “It’s in 144 Turner Lane. Stay there until you find other accommodation.” 

Anderson looked incredulous. “Why?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Like I said. You’re less boring when you’re not abused. You should start sleeping with Donovan again, it was fun deducing what you had been up to the night before.”

That actually warranted a laugh from Anderson, even though it was a humourless one. He nodded curtly at Sherlock.

“Thank you.” 

Sherlock answered his nod and turned. John was waiting around the corner. Sherlock ignored him and walked on past, knowing that John would fall in step with him. 

“That was nice of you.”

“It was the logical solution.”

“You care about him. At least a little.”

“What could have possibly led you to that conclusion?”

“Normally you ignore clues about a person until you need to acknowledge them. You always dismiss Anderson but you noticed his wounds which you wouldn’t have had to. Hence: You care.”

“I noticed because Anderson is always gaining my attention by being completely incompetent. He was getting more incompetent and his intellectually challenged remarks were becoming less amusing and easier to shoot down. The problem: His wife. The solution: Get him away from said wife.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Sherlock”, John sighed and patted Sherlock on the back before he continued walking towards the exit. 

-fin-


End file.
